Pastime
by Mister Unreliable Narrator
Summary: What do Anthony J. Crowley and Aziraphale do in their spare time besides attempting to avert the Apocalypse or getting utterly smashed?


Disclaimer: _Good Omens_ belongs to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.

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Soft beams of sunshine wafted through the window and fell on the clear spectacles of a man or rather a man shaped creature who was obviously preoccupied with reading an unidentifiable book. Only hints of what the man shaped creature was reading came from the words emitting from his own mouth.

"Ah, I see how it is. It will not be so easy for him to top me next time."

His baby soft skin turned a peculiar red color as he remembered a rather humiliating event.

He returned his thoughts back to solely reading the book, stopping only to lightly brush aside his light blonde hair out of his soft blue eyes.

"Ahh! There are too many positions!" he yelled out exasperatedly, this was odd considering his usual calm demeanor that could hold out well in many situations, like The End of the World as We Know It for example.

He groaned softly and reclined, sinking into his checkered, tartan sofa as the inevitable footsteps drew closer. Quickly he closed the book and shoved it into the sofa, in between the two cushions. He then shifted the sky blue, duck patterned blankets to obscure the object from view as a voice familiar to him penetrated the room.

"Aziraphale? You can only hide from me for so long…" hissed a particularly displeased and impatient Fallen angel.

Aziraphale stood up to open the door. If he didn't let the owner of the speaker in he would force his way in anyway. He always did, if one resisted it was almost always going to be painful. Sometimes he took it slowly and it was unhurried and agonizing conquest. Other times it was quick and merciless.

"Hold on Crowley, I'll get the door."

The person or rather person shaped creature to which this statement was addressed ignored it completely.

As Aziraphale was at the door a dark haired man wearing an expensive looking suit and watch opened it suddenly and the force of the door opening threw Aziraphale back onto the sofa, causing him to fall into the sheets.

Crowley stepped inside, grinning at Aziraphale's misfortune.

"You made me Fall!" Aziraphale complained.

"Sorry." Crowley admitted semi-sincerely. "But you should have seen that coming. I was in front of you. It's not like I got you from behind."

"That you have done before."

"Ahh…it's been so long I almost forgot what it was like." Crowley smiling dangerously, walking up to Aziraphale leisurely, certain that the angel would not run. Deliberately slow, he unbuttoned his Armani suit and situated himself next to Aziraphale, haphazardly tossing the suit to the floor.

Aziraphale groaned in response. "You can't do this to me…"

But Crowley crawled closer anyway.

Aziraphale could not help but look into his eyes as Crowley drew closer. Instantly the Principality was reminded of what Crowley truly was, a snake. A ruthless and tempting snake that knew your desires better than you did and Aziraphale knew that he did want this. He wanted it _bad_, another round to redeem himself and not be as humiliated as he had last time although he undoubtedly enjoyed the experience.

Still grinning, Crowley eyed Aziraphale hungrily, wondering what kind of tactics or defense the angel would employ this time.

He laid his hand tenderly on Aziraphale's plump fingers. Aziraphale did nothing for he was far too anxious and on edge do anything.

"Aziraphale…" Crowley whispered into the angel's ear, his serpent tongue brushing lightly against his flesh as he did so.

"Wh-what do you want?" Aziraphale said, shivering, although he knew exactly what Crowley wanted.

"I just want to be entertained…just like last time did thisss." Unfortunately Crowley started to hiss as he got excited.

Deciding that he was not going to go through with it after all Aziraphale tried to escape, planning to push the demon off the sofa then dash out of the room.

But most plans, like the Ineffable Plan, were well...Ineffable and you can't always expect them to succeed.

Crowley, predicting this move quite accurately and nicely, quickly pinned Aziraphale to the sofa, holding his limbs down on the sofa as he struggled beneath him.

"Now Aziraphale, sstop struggling! If you do, I swear I will not be so rough on you thiss time."

He hurriedly pulled out an array of plastic objects out of his pocket.

Aziraphale was yelling now. "You will be rough! That forked tongue of yours speaks lies! You'll _cream_ me!"

"You _will be_ rough?" Crowley questioned. "Was that a command? So you want me to be rough? I can be if thatss how you like it." He laughed mercilessly.

"Don't put it there!"

"I do love invading deep into opponent territory." Crowley said nonchalantly as he placed the chessboard onto the table. The just newly painted and still drying table.

Aziraphale growled as Crowley lifted up the board, which had taken some of the table's paint with it.

"Oh, what the he-ham." Crowley nearly swore. "You can just paint it again later can't you? It's not like you really have anything better to do than play with me." Crowley paused. "Unless you are afraid I'll top and crush you harshly like I did last time."

"You will not." Aziraphale said, placing the plastic chess pieces onto the board in their proper places.

"And you think you have gotten better?" Crowley questioned, pulling the sheets on the sofa aside.

"Why yes, dear boy. I do believe I-" Aziraphale's sentence was cut short suddenly when he froze in mute disbelief and horror as Crowley picked up the book previously hidden in the sofa and flipped through its pages dismissively, momentarily glancing at the cover.

"_Playing Chess for Dummies_?" Crowley laughed. "That does it, there is no way you are going to beat me."

Aziraphale didn't.

Instead he got creamed. And licked.

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Author's Notes: I was bored.

This fiction is inspired by a piece of Good Omens fan art I saw before about Crowley and Aziraphale playing chess.

Please review?


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